Many a dinner, therefore, did we decline--many a route did we reject; my husband's popularity tottered, and the inviters, though they no longer dinned their dinners in our ears, and teazed us with their "teas," vowed secret vengeance, and muttered "curses, not loud, but deep." I have hinted that we had no scandalous capabilities; and though slander flashed around us, we seldom admitted morning visiters, and our street-door was a non-conductor. But our next door neighbours were maiden ladies, who _had been_ younger, and, to use a common term of commiseration, had seen better days--by which, I mean the days of bloom, natural hair, partners, and the probability of husbands. Their vicinity to us was an infinite comfort to the town, for those who were unable to gain admittance at our door to disturb our business and desires, "For every man has business and desire, Such as they are," were certain of better success at our neighbours', where they at least could gain some information about us "from eye-witnesses who resided on the spot." _My_ sins were numbered, so were my new bonnets; and for a time my husband was pitied, because "he had an extravagant wife;" but when it was ascertained that his plate was handsome, his dinner satisfactory in its removes, and _comme il faut_ in its courses, those whose feet had never been within our door, saw clearly "how it must all end, and really felt for our trades-people." I have acknowledged that I had written romances; the occupation was to me a source of amusement; and as I had been successful, my husband saw no reason why he should discourage me. A scribbling fool, _in_ or _out_ of petticoats, should be forbidden the use of pen, ink, and paper; but my husband had too much sense to heed the vulgar cry of "blue stocking." After a busy month passed in London, we saw my new novel sent forth to the public, and then returned to our mansion at Pumpington Wells. As we drove up to our door, our virgin neighbours gazed on us, if possible, with more than their former interest. They wiped their spectacles; with glances of commiseration they saw us alight, and with unwearied scrutiny they witnessed the removal of our luggage from the carriage. We went out--every body stared at us--the people we _did_ know touched the hands we extended, and hastened on as if fearful of infection; the people we _did not_ know whispered as they passed us, and looked back afterwards; the men servants seemed full of mysterious flurry when we left our cards at the doors of acquaintances, and the maid-servants peeped at us up the areas; the shopkeepers came from their counters to watch us down the streets--and all was whispering and wonder. I could not make it out; was it to see the authoress? No; I had been an authoress when they last saw me. Was it the brilliant success of my new work? It _could_ be nothing else.